


Figuring Out Comfortable Sleep Positions

by sonofabitch_awesome



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comforting Dean, Crying Castiel, Destiel - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Human Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Men Crying, Nightmares, One Shot, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 08:25:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3349973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonofabitch_awesome/pseuds/sonofabitch_awesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has nightmares, but he's being really stubborn about letting Dean know.</p><p>Takes place before 9x09 "Holy Terror." Gadreel was never outed; he left Sam healed and they still think he was Ezekiel.</p><p>I tagged Sam, but he's barely in one scene, sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Figuring Out Comfortable Sleep Positions

**Author's Note:**

> Figured since I made Dean have nightmares last time, I'd pick on Castiel this time. 
> 
> Takes place right after 9x07 “Bad Boys.” Or maybe 9x08 “Rock and a Hard Place,” I don’t know. Also, WOW, this one just kept going. Thrice the length of [No Shortage of Terrors and Traumas](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3338114)!
> 
> Castiel is human, but is staying with Dean. No Gadreel/Ezekial complications – Sam’s okay, Gadreel/Zeke left on his own, etc. I referred to him as Ezekial here because in this timeframe, Dean never found out he was somebody else.

**Figuring Out Comfortable Sleep Positions**

Cas tonight is surprisingly persistent, fucking Dean almost relentlessly into the memory foam, pinning both hands on Dean’s as they go.

“Nnn… God, Cas…” Dean gasps, feeling close. “I’m…”

Cas nips at the skin of Dean’s shoulder and up his neck, alternating between kisses and full on sucking. “I’m not letting you up,” he growls, and drives harder.

Fuck. _Fuck_. That bossiness is what does it. Dean can’t hold back any longer and comes messily between his stomach and the blankets with a long, drawn out whimper. Cas rolls his hips once, twice more, tightening his grip on Dean's hands. He comes hard, collapsing onto Dean's back, winded and wheezing. He slips out but doesn’t get off of Dean yet.

“Someone’s…” Dean doesn’t quite have his breath back. “Got some energy tonight,” he finishes after a moment. “’S going on?”

Cas kisses Dean’s neck again, a lot more gently this time. “Nothing,” he says. “I just… I’m happy I have you,” he says simply.

Dean would rather die than admit how that makes him feel, so he says nothing and smiles into the pillow. He turns his face to meet Cas’s mouth briefly, and then Cas gets off him. Dean reaches over and grabs the wet wipes from the nightstand drawer for a quick clean-up before sleep.

This Cas-every-day-and-night thing is awesome, Dean’s thinking as he settles back into Cas’s arms, still panting a bit. In years past, he would have been resistant to being the little spoon here, but when it’s _Castiel_ , who the hell cares?

It’s only been something like five weeks since Cas has been living here. After the case at Sonny’s, Ezekial had admitted that Sam was healed enough to be on his own. The second Zeke had departed in an explosion of light while Sam was sleeping, and Dean woke Sam up to make sure he was okay, Dean was grabbing his phone. His hand shook so much as he tried to hit Castiel’s number that he dialed Bobby’s old number twice, right above _Cas_ in the phone’s contacts. Sam, still groggy from sleep, stared in confused amazement the whole time while Dean’s voice broke and he begged Cas to come back. Cas was uncertain, but up for it, and he started for the Bunker the next morning. As soon as he arrived, Dean explained instantly why he’d _really_ had to push him away, telling Sam separately later (he was _livid_ about Dean tricking him with Zeke, but eventually he cooled off).

Once they were all under one roof, they made it _maybe_ one week before Cas was the first to break, admitting the deeper reason it had hurt so much when he was thrown out. That he felt like he loved Dean. And although Dean tried to joke about it – more out of habit than anything else—, the truth of the matter was that his heart felt like it was trying to make a break for it. So finally, he’d just shut up, _given_ up, and kissed Cas until they were both out of breath.

Dean can feel Cas breathing now, warm air gently blowing over Dean’s ear. Poor guy’s already half-asleep. Worn out. Dean grins and twines his fingers with Cas’s over his stomach and lets himself drift off.

 

-

 

Several hours later, Dean wakes up more suddenly than he usually does, bladder full and painful. Cas’s arms are gone; Dean rolls over to see Cas turned away from him, facing the wall on his side. He’s curled up tight, like he’s _still_ not used to figuring out comfortable sleep positions even after six months of being human.

Dean runs a hand over Cas’s upper back and pats once, feather-light, before getting out of bed. He thinks of saying something, “Glad you’re here” maybe, but doesn’t want to risk waking him up if he is asleep.

When Dean’s done in the bathroom, he leans on the counter with his palms, exhaling. He has never really gotten over the guilt of sending a vulnerable and human Cas away into such an intimidating world. And he’s not sure he ever will. Dean lifts his head to look into the mirror, but can’t hold eye contact with himself.

He swallows and turns out the light. As he walks back into the bedroom, he’s momentarily unable to see after the brightness of the bathroom. 

Cas is curled so far away from him that he’s almost on his stomach. It looks kind of like he’s shaking slightly, and Dean chuckles as he walks in, shutting the door behind him. “’Cha doing?” he asks teasingly, figuring by the motion of the sheets pulled up to Cas’s chest that he must have woken up hard. “Want some help with that?”

Immediately, Cas freezes. Not a single muscle moves for a long moment, and then without turning to face Dean, he speaks. “No.” His already low voice is practically dripping tar and toughness. 

Dean blinks, pulling the blankets down to slide back into bed. “Okay. Sorry. I just thought, if you—”

“Please leave me alone,” Cas gets out in a strained voice. “I don’t—want to talk right now.” Continuing to present his back, he sits up, leaning over the side of the bed for his pants. He gets into them a little too easily; it must not have been a wood problem. He keeps his face away from Dean and marches to the bathroom, not quite slamming the door, but definitely shutting it harder than necessary.

Dean remains sitting up in bed and frowns at the bathroom door in complete confusion. Cas must _still_ be upset about being kicked out – maybe he’s thinking Dean will kick him out again soon. Dean runs a palm down his face and sighs, vowing to apologize ( _again_ ) when Cas comes out.

He waits for what’s got to be fifteen minutes before lying down, crossing his arms over his chest and staring up at the ceiling. He’s not sure how long he waits after that, and although he tries not to, he ends up falling back asleep with the bed unbearably half-empty.

 

-

 

Dean is in the kitchen making his own sort of bastardized versions of Sausage & Egg McMuffins. They’d actually bought English muffins the last time they got groceries, and he wasn’t sure how to make the egg patties until he remembered something he’d seen on a cooking channel sometime before Hell. And luckily, there were canning jars in one of the cabinets, so he greased three lids’ rings and poured the eggs and milk mixture into them in the pan. Perfect.

Cas stumbles in bleary-eyed, hair sticking up all over. He meets Dean’s gaze and immediately looks contrite. “Sorry about last night,” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. He snags a cup of coffee and concentrates way too hard on adding exactly the right amount of sugar and cream.

“It’s okay,” Dean says, flipping the sausage patties. He slips the egg patties onto a plate and frowns over at Cas. “Hey… You all right?”

“Sure, yeah, I’m fine,” Cas affirms, raising his cup to his mouth quickly. He takes a sip and then pulls the cup away, his eyes watering. “Hot,” he says unnecessarily. Dean jerks his head toward the table behind him, where a glass of cold water is already waiting. Cas has made that mistake at least two other times since he’s been living here, and Dean had a feeling this morning.

“Where’s Sam?” Cas asks after drinking half the glass. He stands by the stove and watches Dean work. 

“Still sleeping. He got back pretty late from his date, I think,” Dean says, placing cheese on one of the patties. He glances over. “You want cheese with yours?” Cas nods, so he adds another slice, knowing Sam won’t want cheese on his. Weirdo. 

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you,” Cas says, retrieving his coffee cup and adding some cold water. He returns to the side of the stove and sips slower this time.

Dean shrugs, flipping the cheeseless patty onto a plate. “Yeah, well, I shouldn’t have kicked you out, so…”

Cas frowns. “I thought we were over that.”

“ _I’m_ not,” Dean mutters, flushed with guilt. He doesn’t look at Cas, instead concentrating on splitting open three muffins and dropping four halves into the pan that had cooked the eggs.

“Dean, I never said…”

“You don’t have to. I know it’s a sore spot,” Dean says, finally glancing over. “I was a dick. Even though Zeke gave me the ultimatum. I could have done something different. I could have found you a place close by. Or prayed to another angel to come heal Sam, and get Zeke out sooner. _Something_.”

Cas sets his coffee cup down on the counter, then steps closer to Dean. He twines his arms around Dean’s shoulders and pulls him in, hugging tight. “I don’t blame you, Dean,” he insists, his deep voice vibrating practically inside of Dean’s chest. “It’s not that. I promise. I _promise_ you.”

Dean shuts his eyes and breathes Cas’s scent deeply, tightening his hands into fists on the back of the faded black AC/DC shirt Cas had “borrowed” from him during the first week and never returned. “Okay,” he says after a moment. “Glad you seem better this morning.”

The slight stiffness in Cas’s shoulders is probably nothing. The guy had fallen asleep in the bathroom, after all, sitting on the floor against the wall or in the tub. Dean resolves that as soon as they’re done with breakfast and Sam is occupied, he’ll give Cas the absolute best backrub he can.

 

-

 

Three nights later, Dean wakes up and hears a strange sound. He’s already reaching for the knife under his pillow, before he realizes that the noise is coming from his left and not the doorway.

From Cas.

Dean pushes up onto his elbows, looking over. “Babe?”

Cas is turned away from him. His shoulders, or at least the one visible to Dean, are trembling again.

 _Oh._ Oh, no.

Dean’s heart nearly stops as he finally clues in. “Cas?” He turns onto his side and moves closer, placing a palm lightly on Cas’s upper arm. Cas doesn’t exactly respond, but he lets Dean shuffle in so they’re back-to-chest. Dean lifts his head to see that Cas has a fist to his mouth and he’s breathing raggedly; Dean can’t see his face very well with the nightlight on the other side of the bed, but he’s pretty sure Cas’s cheeks are wet. _Oh God_. “Babe. It’s okay,” Dean whispers, dropping his arm around Cas’s chest. “It’s all right.”

The fist moves away slightly, but it takes Cas a minute and a half of shaky breathing to be able to speak. “No. It’s not.”

Dean can’t handle this. He presses his forehead into Cas’s shoulder and rubs Cas’s chest in slow circles. “I’m here. You’re okay.” He knows the three words he needs to say here, but damned if he can get them out, even _now_. Coward. “I’m here,” he repeats instead, pressing a kiss into the back of Cas’s shoulder.

Cas doesn’t say anything. When Dean looks at him, he sees that Cas is staring blankly at the wall, fist right back up to his mouth while he cries. Dean removes his hand from Cas’s chest and brushes the backs of his fingers at the tears continuing to streak down Cas’s face. “Cas—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Cas manages in a cracking voice that reminds Dean of large rocks breaking into gravel. “I’m sorry.” He slips out of Dean’s arms and out of bed, then retreats to the bathroom and shuts the door quietly. There’s a soft _snick_ as the door is locked from within.

Dean is left watching the door again. He can, of course, easily pick the lock, but he won’t. Cas needs to be alone right now. And as much as it kills Dean, he won’t push if Cas isn’t ready to talk.

He lies back to face the ceiling, blinking. Tears of his own slip out of the corners of his eyes, rolling into the top edges of his ears. _Fuck_.

Cas is a stubborn son of a bitch. Despite how hard Dean fights sleep – sitting up again, getting out of bed and pacing after a while before sitting back down, reciting Latin spells in his mind –, it claims him anyway before Cas can return.

 

-

 

The next night, Dean is taking no chances. When Sam goes off to make coffee that night, Dean follows him and quietly asks for regular instead of decaf. He pitches his voice soft enough that Sam almost blows the ruse right off the bat and glances out at Cas sitting at the war room table. Luckily, Cas’s attention is on the rerun of The Simpsons on Sam’s laptop.

“But you’ll be wide awa—” Sam starts.

“That’s the idea,” Dean says, cutting him off. “I need to talk to him about something and he keeps waiting till I fall asleep.”

Sam blinks. “Are you okay? Is it something _I_ can hel—”

Dean shakes his head quickly. “No, no, it’s not me. It’s…” He sighs, leaning toward the doorway to check on Cas again. Cas is frowning at the screen, and his familiar uncertainty is incredibly reassuring to Dean. “Something’s… He’s having nightmares or something, Sammy. I just… I can’t sit by and watch him struggle with this anymore. Twice now he’s locked himself in the bathroom and not come out till after I’m asleep. I’m not doing this anymore.”

Sam puts a blue coffee cup under the Keurig and holds out a hand. “Pick your poison and give it here,” he says. Dean grabs a random regular strength K-cup and tosses it over. “And have you thought of jamming the lock before he can play hide and seek?” Sam asks.

That… actually has never occurred to him, either. “Yeah, I’ll do that too,” Dean agrees. “Not bad, little brother.” 

“Not bad, but obvious,” Sam smirks. His expression turns serious. “Hey, Dean? Good luck. I hope he’s able to talk. I care about him too, you know.”

Dean nods and retrieves the steaming cup of coffee. “I know. He’ll be okay. He will.” 

 

-

 

In bed that night, Cas seems to be trying too hard to pretend things are normal. He comes onto Dean a little strong, climbing over him to kiss him almost as soon as they’re both between the covers. He runs his palms up Dean’s stomach to his chest.

For a moment, Dean responds to Cas’s touching and lips, sliding his hands along the warm skin of Cas’s back while their tongues move in tandem. And then Cas moves his mouth down to Dean’s neck, his kisses warm and wet while his palms skim down his sides to the waistband of Dean’s boxers. 

“Babe…” Dean whimpers when Cas reaches in to encourage his growing length. This can’t be happening, or at least not yet. Oh, hell, his _fingers_... 

Cas lifts up from Dean’s neck. “Mmm?” He presses their lips together again, gently but insistently pushing his tongue forward to lick into Dean’s mouth. And then his hand twists just a little and his thumb presse—

“Nnn-mmm,” Dean says, pulling back to break the kiss. It says a lot about how much Dean is worried that he’s able to (eventually) resist how unbelievably _hot_ Cas is when he’s taking control like this. “Stop a second.” He struggles to control his breathing, gazing across the room at the dimly lit bathroom door. He hadn't jammed the lock after all; he's hoping he can convince Cas to talk first.

“What?” Cas stops stroking, but he doesn’t take his hand out of Dean’s boxers. 

“I ca—I can’t right now,” Dean says, knowing his body is _seriously_ annoyed with him for that sentence. He focuses instead on the pound of his heart, willing it to calm down. “Don’t sex me into a coma to get out of this.”

Cas finally pulls away and rolls off Dean, sighing. “It was worth a try,” he mutters.

Dean swallows, shutting his eyes. He licks his lips and turns onto his side. “Talk to me,” he says pleadingly, propping his head on one elbow.

“I… I can’t,” Cas mumbles, looking straight up at the ceiling.

“Cas, we have _literally_ been to Purgatory together. And Hell and back. You and me,” Dean says firmly, waiting for him to glance back over. “What the fuck can you not tell me?”

Cas shakes his head.

“No. I’m not lying here every night staring at your back while you _cry_ about nightmares you’re not telling me about,” Dean says angrily. Cas glances over, his eyebrows raised. “Yeah, I know they’re nightmares. You think _I_ of all people wouldn’t understand?”

“Dean…”

“Bullshit, Cas. Forty years. Not to mention all the bullshit we have to put up with in our so-called _regular_ lives!” Dean spits out. “I know I haven’t lived anywhere near as long as you have, but that _doesn’t_ mean it’s not worth talking to me about.”

Cas starts to turn away. “Dean, I’m sorry, but—”

Dean’s had enough. He rolls over on top of Cas, weighing him down gently. “Fucking _talk_ to me,” he begs, propping himself up over Cas’s chest.

The nightlight is barely bright enough to illuminate faint moisture in Cas’s eyes. Dean drops down only enough to touch their foreheads together. “Talk to me, babe,” he repeats, breathing into Cas’s mouth. “I’m begging you here. I can’t… I can’t watch you hurt like this.”

Cas lifts his face the last centimeter so their mouths meet, but he doesn’t push things this time. Dean gently lowers himself down so they’re lying chest to chest, and then kisses Cas’s cheek. He rests his head on Cas’s shoulder, reaching down to interlock their fingers. “Whatever you’re dreaming about, Cas, we can kick its ass,” Dean assures him. “We always _have_. Even the damn Leviathan. We figured out how to take them down too. And I _will_ kick Metatron’s ass for stealing your grace if it’s the last thing I _ever_ fucking do.”

“But what if…” 

Dean looks at him.

Cas is staring up at the ceiling, unable to meet Dean’s eyes. “What if it’s not… Others I’m having nightmares about? What if it’s _me_?”

“What, you mean the God thing?” Dean asks. Cas cringes. So, yes. Dean quickly continues. “You think you’re the only one to fuck things up? You’re not so special.” 

The expression on Cas’s face is _priceless_. He looks like he’s not sure if he should be insulted, reassured, amused, or some mix of the three. 

Dean kisses him for emphasis. “I know you’re sorry about the souls. We both do. It was … It wasn’t a good thing, I’ll admit, but you had the best of intentions. I know that now. You had no way of knowing what w—”

“The damage I did…” 

“No,” Dean cuts him off. “Stop it. You’ll drive yourself crazy. Believe me, I know.” He laughs bitterly. “You’re talking to the guy who spent _ten_ of his forty years doing the torturing and enjoying it. You _saw_ it, remember?” Even if Dean doesn’t remember meeting Cas for the first time.

Cas shuts his eyes tightly. “It’s… different,” he says brokenly. “I had a choice in the matt—”

“I did, _too!_ ” Dean interrupts. “Remember, I made my own choice. I didn’t have to make the deal. And I didn’t have to accept the offer in Hell. My fucking dad didn’t!” he adds and rolls off Cas. “Fuck.”

Cas turns on his side to look at Dean. “Don’t think about it,” he orders.

“What?” Dean asks, shifting so they’re face-to-face.

“You’re doing it again. Stop it. It was a different situation. They were _trying_ to _break_ you,” Cas says. “They needed it to happen.”

Dean scoffs. “Yeah, well, they got it.” Cas. This is about Cas, not _his_ issues. “Nice deflection there, by the way. But we’re talkin’ about you, big boy. And Sam. Sam let Lucifer out. Can you seriously lay there and tell me he’s forgivable for that but you’re not?”

“Sam—”

“—put Lucifer back, I know. My point stands,” Dean says. “We have _all_ fucked up, but we’re _not_ beyond all hope.”

Cas reaches forward, holding onto Dean’s hand. “That’s not… That’s not all I dream about,” he admits.

“Yeah?” Dean asks. “Tell me.”

And Cas does.

Besides the playing-God thing, Cas has been having nightmares of what was done to him in Naomi’s office. Naomi’s torture and brutal brainwashing: both the fact that she felt it okay to abuse the fuck out of him since his memory would be cleaned later, and the attempted reconditioning of his mind--that only his love for Dean could break through. And fucking Metatron, slicing Cas’s throat neatly and speaking obnoxiously fake words of encouragement, ripping control completely away and throwing him down to a world where he had to have _known_ angels would blame him. Dean has to clench his teeth to hide the rage when Cas tells him this part.

Various attacks Cas has been part of over the years, easily dealt with at the time but surfacing now to his intimidated, overwhelmed human brain. Knives and bullets in his chest (Dean cringes when he says this; Cas hurries to add he _isn’t_ speaking of that time specifically – it’s one he remembers fondly and has never had nightmares about), demons or humans attempting to take him down, the whole gamut. 

Cas also often dreams of the still-strange feelings of being human. Feeling so hungry that the hunger is accompanied by pain or nausea, or being so exhausted sleep is somehow impossible, or shivering alone and cold on a bus, everything all at once and often in combination. And death. Literally _dying_ from the reaper within April Kelly. The torture and the sharp stab, then nothing after that.

And probably least bothersome, but adding to the pile—random, run-of-the-mill human nightmares. Falling, literally, as if out of an airplane. Teeth falling out. Dean or Sam dying – which sort of mix with the worst nightmares, because those ones have been true enough before. Dean asks half-jokingly if he has “naked in public” dreams, but he doesn’t, it not occurring to him to be afraid of something so insignificant in comparison to everything else.

“On top of all of _that_ …” Cas says now, his voice even hoarser after a good two hours and some change talking. He glances down to where Dean’s been rubbing his upper arm soothingly and continues. “I wake up from these and I realize _I’m waking up_. I’ve been _sleeping_. I’m human. It’s… Even after all this time, it’s still…”

“An adjustment,” Dean finishes for him when Cas’s voice trails off. “Yeah. I bet. It’s gonna take some time. It’ll probably take a long time.” He digs his fingers lightly into Cas’s shoulder. “But you know what? You got me. You got both of us now. Team Free Will, remember?”

Cas manages a soft laugh. He leans in and kisses Dean, resting one palm against Dean’s face. “I love you,” he murmurs when they part.

“You too,” Dean whispers back. “Don’t hide from me anymore, okay?”

“I won’t. I promise,” Cas says after a while.

Dean holds out his hands. “Now come here, I’ve got you,” he says, waiting. Cas smiles and turns over to scoot backwards into his arms. “I’ve got you,” Dean says again, pressing his lips to the back of Cas’s head, burying his nose in Cas’s dark hair and inhaling the smell of his shampoo. “Remember that.”

Cas rests his head back on Dean’s shoulder. “I know,” he says. 

“And I’m not falling asleep anytime soon,” Dean adds, realizing how very un-tired he _actually_ is. “I made sure to get some regular coffee so you couldn’t outwait me again.” Cas laughs a little, and Dean kisses his cheek, loving the sound of Cas’s mild amusement. “So if I think you’re having nightmares again, I’ll wake you up, okay?”

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says, visibly relaxing in his arms.

He still has nightmares after that, including one that night about killing Balthazar while Metatron watches and laughs. It’s cut short and remembered only fuzzily when Dean shakes him awake, though, and talking about it seems to make it less real.

The nightmares never do stop, but Cas stops hiding them from Dean, stops hiding _from_ Dean. And that makes them easier to manage. Somehow.

**Author's Note:**

> The "makin' his own Egg McMuffins" bit _really_ made me want to try to make some of my own (I really should stop writing when I'm hungry - first the coffee thing, now this). I think I will. :D


End file.
